


The Dissolution of Kirkwall

by Farra13



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, Blood and Injury, Chantry Life, F/M, Fluff, Gallows, Occupation, Political Intrigue, Romance, Slow Burn, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-23 23:44:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4896823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Farra13/pseuds/Farra13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>9:34 Dragon - One small accident inside the Gallows during the Mage-Templar conflict shifts the course of history. On the eve of the Qunari invasion, the Mage-Uprising engulfs the Gallows and incites a civil war, preventing the Templar order from defending Kirkwall from the Arishok's invasion and ensuring his dominion of the crippled city state. A/U Occupation Fic. Cawke</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue - The Fall

_“ _Two suspicious knights, one piece of incriminating parchment and a depraved, desperate First Enchanter was all it took to cause the travesty that was the fall of Kirkwall__ __'s_ _ __Circle of Magi - and subsequently the city state itself._ _ __”_ _ __Knight Lieutenant Tralli_ _ __s, 9:44 Dragon, Cumberland, during his speech to the College of Mage_ _ __s after the official dissolution of the Kirkwall city state._ _

 

 _**_25_ ** _ _**_th_ ** _ _**_Haring_ ** _

_**_9:34 Dragon_ ** _

_**_Kirkwall_ ** _

 

“Ser!” Was the muffled words Cullen heard as he grunted in annoyance, swiping his hand at whoever was interrupting his sleep, cursing as the redoubled their efforts and grasped his shoulder tightly.

“Ser!?” The high-pitched panicked voice yelled again, coming through much clearer as Cullen snarled loudly, trying his best to look up and confront whichever fool knight had disturbed his rest.

Dark ringed, bloodshot eyes opened blurredly, the bright amber light around him forcing them shut as he let out a vile curse, doing his best to adjust to the almost overwhelming glow from across a bay of water. His sluggish mind was slowly trying to figure out where he was. Face being pulled into a grimace as someone yanked him round by the arm, causing him to moan lowly at the sharp burn of pain that flared from beneath his shoulder.

“Knight-Captain.” A familiar voice snapped, forcing Cullen to finally glance up again to see the hazy form of Knight-Lieutenant Thrask staring at him in deep concern. “Cullen, we need to be ready!”

He tried to respond with words, but his mouth was dry and so very sore, the bitter taste of ash and blood made him gag a little before he felt the water being dribbled onto his lips from elder mans waterskin, his tongue greedily catching it before he surged forward to grasp the container and down the meagre mouthfall left in it.

Beyond the intense bickering of men all around him, Cullen could hear the howl of the wind, the roar of the waves and a sound he could only compare to a staccato of repeating thunder. He suddenly lurched violently as Thrask threw him to a wooden floor that he slowly realised was a deck, covering his ears as the elder Templar screamed out an order.

“Take cover!” He bellowed, covering Cullen with his body as the whine of something filled his head before the loud crashing of projectiles impacting onto water next to him, he shuddered as as cold, wet salted liquid covered his overheated skin, dripping amongst his plate metal and soaking the gambeson beneath.

“Keep your heads down knights!” Thrask called out again, covering his his own only a moment before something tore overhead of the pair, smashing into the guardrail of what Cullen had deciphered was a ferry and raining razor sharp splinters and debris across their armour.

Pulling himself into a ball, he began to recite a low prayer of the chant, pleading with the Maker to put an end to the barrage that was landing around him, whipping up waves and annihilating the vessel he was travelling on somewhere within the Kirkwall bay.

“Maker, though the darkness comes upon me, I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.  
I shall-” He was cut off as he and Thrask were thrown left, the impact forcing the breath out of his lungs as he wheezed desperately, holding his stomach as he focused on blotting out the pain that ran all down his right side.

By the time he had opened his eyes once more, the Templars around him were coming to their feet in a daze, darting panicked looks to the hull of the ferry before falling back in relief and lying against what remained of the rails and mast. The world around his was remarkably quiet as he himself came to a trembling stand, clasping the damaged woodwork for support as he stared in horror across the boats bow.

The northern limits of Lowtown and the docks were alight in a blistering inferno, one that had swept all the way up to the waterfront and was spreading through the Altrada warehouses at a phenomenal speed. From the burning carcass of the streets behind it, thick plumes of dark chocking smoke rose high into the air, shrouding the upper limits of Hightown in a hazy screen of slate coloured fog, leaving only the blackened silhouettes of the taller mansions, Chantry and Viscounts Keep visible through the thinning smog

The sky above the horizon, framed by malicious black clouds above a dark blazing red vista that was tinted with hues of orange and gold mixed deep into the backdrop from the fires below. Cullen blew out a shaky sigh as it all came back to him, glancing to Thrask who was swaying on his feet as he tried to speak. “The Qunari have half the bay zeroed with those cannons, we were lucky to get clear without any major damage.” He yelled over the wind, hair matted with sweat and his beard coated with dried blood that had at one stage run down his breastplate, painting the Sword of Mercy in a coating of crimson and ash.

Around them, dozens of vessels were making haste towards the Gallows, avoiding those already struck by the Qunari and currently sinking amongst the violent waves from the damage. The waters around them were dotted with debris, flotsam and stragglers as they fought against the upsurges and swam for land, clinging desperately to whatever they could grasp to stay afloat.

“Thrask.” Cullen rasped, trying to regain his bearing as he stumbled towards his second-in-command. “Are we the last?”

The man visibly paled, visibly swallowing as Cullen caught what remained of their company staring at the two officers for answers. “Aye, when we reach the otherside of the bay, that's it.” He turned to cast a gaze over the bow of the ship, wilting as he took in the death and destruction around them. “Most didn't even make it to the ferries Knight-Captain, we can only hope Venton has restored some form of order to the fortress and gathered what of us remains.”

“Andraste preserve us.” The knights around them were shifting their gaze to the rear of the ferry, many swapping uneasy looks as Cullen strode to the front with Thrask at his side.

Through the embers, ash and smoke he could spot dozens of smaller vessels following them, each overloaded with hundreds of civilians as they swayed precariously atop the rising crests and swells of the sea. Many threatening to capsize from the weight alone, Cullen knew that no matter how much they needed shelter, the order was unable to provide it. The Gallows lay desolated in the aftermath of the rebellion and chapter schism, their supplies would never been able to sustain so many, no matter how few knights remained.

“We won't be able to provide security for them.” He whispered, noticing Thrask give a mournful nod of agreement.

“The minute we make landfall, we must run for the gates, its our only chance or we risk being overrun.” Thrask responded, shifting uncomfortably as Cullen clasped his head, feeling the burden of command more no than he could ever remember. He had never ordered actions that would definitely lead to civilian deaths, and he wasn’t sure he would ever be comfortable with it.

“Templars, we make for the Gallows the moment we reach the pier, you are to stop for nothing. Once we pass the barbican, I want that portcullis dropped.” He ordered loudly, fixing a glare to each of the thirteen knights on the deck.

At their salutes he drew himself to the edge of the ferry, asking Andraste to guide his steps as he braced himself, casting one look back behind him to see many of the civilian boats mooring themselves on the sands around them.

 

 

Cullen shuddered as his feet hit the hard stone of the Gallows main pier with an audible clatter, only years of experience wearing plate armour preventing him from losing his balance and careening over face first into the floor. Behind him he could hear what few remaining Templars he had left at his command, many cursing and groaning as they leapt from the ferry to join their Knight-Captain in his desperate, yet fatigued sprint back to the Gallows.

He could hear beyond the sound of repeated cannon fire and deep vibrations of explosives, beyond the screams and shouts of civilians, the crash of more cogs, fishing boats and water skiffs smashing into the jetties either side of them, hundreds upon hundreds of Kirkwall citizens yelling desperately for help as they ran blindly for the Templar fortresses gates.

“With me knights, we have to move!” He yelled over the chaos, drawing his men close as they surged through the isolated people around them, a vast crowd gathering only three dozen metres behind them and clambering after the armoured men as they called for help.

Each breathe was heavy and painful, the wind carrying hot dry air that made his lungs sting with each breathe. He was so tired…. So fucking tired after the longest night he could remember, his shoulder was caked in sticky blood, the wound from a two pronged Qunari blade having bitten deep into the soft tissue of his underarm. Only being prevented from going deeper after Cullen had thrust his own Silverite sword through the Kossith's throat to halt his momentum, painting his shoulder and breastplate in gore that filled his nose with the acrid scent of copper as he ran.

The cracked and damaged walls of the Gallows had never looked so appealing as he caught sight of the steps leading up to the outer courtyard barbican, feeling what must have been his fifth - second wind ushering him forwards as he finally put some distance between himself and the relentless hordes of civilians behind him. He could see the panicked stares of the two knights at the gate, both swapping horrified looks at the mass of people trailing after their brothers.

“Inside knights! Now!” He roared, ushering them through and finally stepping back himself, rushing past the outer gate and flinching as he heard the tense grinding of metal before the sharp clang of the first set of bars slammed shut. His men had done as he asked...

He closed his eyes in remorse, praying that the reasons for such a cruel act and those to come were justifiable to others.

 

 

Crashing into the portcullis like the violent waves of the Waking Sea on the jagged rocks of the Wounded Coast, the crowd surged relentlessly into the metal bars of the lowered portcullis, hands outstretched like desperate beggars, reaching through the grating as if they believed they could physically grasp the supposed salvation that was the desolated remains of the Gallows courtyard. Many screaming out obscenities and pleas, crying out for mercy in shrill and broken voices. Demanding that what remained of the cities Templar forces provided them refuge from the anarchistic tempest that was besieged Kirkwall.

They fought amongst each other like animals, clawing and snarling as they grew more frenzied and panicked. Cullen could only stare in horror as one man was crushed underfoot of another, his boot coming down hard on the back of the man's skull as if it were a bug or a snail that had gotten in the way of his path, his assailant was seemingly ignorant or uncaring as to what he had just done, his face set on the knights before him as he clung to the gate and howled at the Templars to open it.

How ironic it was that so many had rushed to the Gallows for safety, despite the dark and twisted reputation it had developed as as mage-prison in years passed, in the face of death, suddenly the tales and rumours surrounding it were obsolete. So many would have named it a malicious and depraved fortress ruled by a madwoman only days ago, that behind its vast Jet stone walls the very Veil itself was beginning to unravel in the face of so much cruelty, abuse and death. Now it was suddenly a sanctuary, a beacon of safety amidst the chaotic sprawl and inferno that had engulfed the city.

It was almost funny in a macabre way in how opinions had been changed in the face of death or conversion at the behest of the Qun.

The citizens of Kirkwall had always claimed that Meredith and her Templar chapter were the embodiment of corruption, that even despite a common fear of mages, many would never consider giving up an apostate and damning them to a slow and agonizing death in the tower dungeons. There was no respect and belief in the knights, and they were treated as an occupying force, spat upon and insulted at every turn like some foreign invaders.

And now here they were, the tables turned. The commoners begging the Templars that they had rallied against for so long for compassion, to help them in their time of need, even if a week ago few would have even given a passing glance if one of the knights before them lay dying on the streets of Lowtown, sparing as much empathy as they did tolerance for those that safeguarded them from uncontrolled magic.

Cullen had known that since his arrival in Kirkwall things had worsened by the day, and in the recent monthsthe rumours were rife with exaggerations and half truths, all the while only exacerbated by Meredith's paranoia and secrecy, giving the fabricated tales actual credence with the way she hid everything she could from the public eye. From the day he began his role as Knight-Captain, she had slowly shifted from stern and unmoving in duty, to cold and half-insane in her ideas. And now she lay dead, noting more than another corpse on a pyre, the alien blade she had wielded was safely stored away as many questioned the danger and power it held.

His lip burned as he pulled it into a thin line, the sharp pain of the stitches being pulled causing him to curse under his breath as he considered what had brought him to this moment.

Cullen was two things indefinitely in life, a Templar to his core, one that had upheld and represented the tenants and beliefs of the order for nearly eleven years. Only breaking a single vow over the period of the Blight, and in doing so nearly driving him to death through drink, lyrium and melancholy. He was a survivor above all else, no matter what he endured in life, his remarkable willpower drove him forward. He withstood the fall and subsequent torture of Kinloch, fought in the disordered and chaotic evacuations of South Reach and even served in the battles of Redcliffe and Denerim. He had believed that Kirkwall would give him a new start, one he had hoped would be free of the agony he had already suffered from his time in Ferelden.

He was wrong.

 

 

Above the crumbling stone crenelations and smoldering wrecked tower ruins, Cullen took a sharp breath as he spotted the sun cresting the edge of the cliffside, hidden amongst the dense smoke of the burning city before him, its form was nothing more than an intense pendant of powerful red light that pierced the near impenetrable smog that had risen from the inferno engulfing the eastern limits of Lowtown.

It was a new day and Kirkwall was as dark as the dead of night, the sunlight barely able to cut through the clouds of soot and embers that had taken residence above the city, casting the entire settlement into a seemingly permanent state of twilight that was rather poetic for a day that apparently wouldn't end. His mouth was thick and the taste of burnt wood and metal resided on his tongue, the air was hot and cloying, carrying heavy bitter ash that fell like snow amongst the ruins around him.

Cullen had long passed the point of nausea from the scent of death and burnt flesh on the winds, far beyond the point of exhaustion, his mind was slow and lethargic as he stared aimlessly at the increasingly frantic and frenzied mob at the gates. Snapping out of his haze at the wretching of a young Knight-Corporal to his left, his gaze following the eyes of the other knights as they recoiled further in horror at the sight before them. In their unbending determination to enter the Gallows, over a dozen of the men and women had joined the dead figure who lay at the foot of the gate, their bodies crushed against the bars by the weight and strength of the crowd behind them. Killed in their recklessness to reach safety.

The sound of the final arrivals horn cut through the roar of the civilians loud and clear, signalling that the Knight-Captain's squadron was the last unit to make it back inside the Gallows. He closed his eyes and fought back the sting of tears as the grief crashed down on him, over eight hundred of his remaining knights had crossed the harbour just after midnight, the moon high above casting the docks in a vivid argent light as they moved to smash the Qunari advance.

The casualty list would be enormous, he knew in his heart that at the most a quarter had returned, the rest lay dead or dying on marble paved streets and steps, smoking craters and collapsed buildings inside Hightown, and maybe a small number lay trapped in the rat-run that was the remnants of Lowtown as it lay burning in the night. That combined with the initial losses when the mages rebelled and the chapter sundered under Meredith's order, meant they had been reduced from some two and half thousand to maybe four hundred, including the dozens that lay in the infirmary, most of which would not survive another night.

Around him he could feel the despondency emanating from the Templars behind him, all silent as they remained fixed in place, too tired, lost or shocked to move. He finally caught sight of a young petite sister on the trail of Knight Lieutenant Venton who were both bearing towards him quickly, their steps rushed and faces pulled into despair

“Venton.” He croaked, clearing his throat as best he could by hacking up the combination of ash and mucus in his throat and spitting it on the bloodied flagstone beneath his feet. “What's the situation?”

“Worse than we feared.” Cullen hung his head low, absorbing his colleagues words with a sharp breath of anguish.

“Hawke?” He asked, hoping that the hellish apostate still lived as they would need her in the coming days.

“With the Prince, both still unconscious. The healers say she will make a full recovery but it will be at least a couple days before she will be up and moving, Brother Sebastian however....” He gestured him to go on, wanting to hear everything no matter how bad things were. “They are unsure if he will ever wake up, the swelling in his skull is severe.”

“Casualties?” He muttered in question, trying not to dwell on Vael's probable coma.

“Still counting, we have maybe three hundred able bodied knights left to police the entire fortress.”

“Makers breath, and we have no idea how many civilians we have with us?” Venton shrugged aimlessly, forcing himself to not look at the portcullis that was now packed with screeching civilians.

“Seneschal Bran is gathering all able bodied scribes to take a head count, until then...” He trailed off, mind lost in thought.

“Very well, gather the officers in the Templar hall. I will brief them on what I can.” Venton snapped of a tired halfhearted salute, striding away as the timid sister stepped forward despite Cullen's huff of irritation.

“Ser Cullen?” She inquired quietly, face pale and streaked with tears.

“Yes sister?”

“Grand Cleric Elthina has asked for you at your first convenient moment. She wishes to discuss security arrangements with you as soon as possible.” Cullen nodded sharply, dismissing her with a small agreement before turning back to his men.

“Ser, our orders?” He glanced to the gate, feeling numb at the decision he had been forced to make. They barely had enough troops to secure the Gallows, let alone police the fortress, not too mention the food reserves, it was simply impossible for them take in any more survivors.

“Seal the gates, no one in or out.” He ordered, ignoring the slack jaws and incredulous expressions of his Templars.

“But ser, the commoners…. They will be….” He ignored the stammering young knight for a moment, glancing to Thrask.

“Thrask, gather at least a dozen auxiliary archers, I want them manning the gates and ready to fire.” The man visibly stiffened at the order.

“Knight-Captain.” He whispered in disbelief, eyes wide as he glanced tot he crowd. “Surely?”

“Hard decisions have to be made, we don't have the supplies to take in anymore, and they leave us vulnerable if we can't fully secure the Gallows.” Thrask swallowed slowly, locked in a stare with Cullen as he remained still.

“Now Thrask.” He stressed in annoyance.

“Yes ser.” The older Knight-Lieutenant twisted away with a grimace, hands clenched tightly as he marched towards the main hall.

“Corporal.” He fixed a steely gaze on the man, leaning forward with a silent snarl. “You have your orders, anyone outside the fortress it to return to their boats immediately, and then you will perform a full lockdown.”

The knight gathered his compatriots quickly, throwing a last anxious glance to his Knight-Captain before addressing the crowd. Cullen could only remain transfixed as the civilians cried out in defiance, pleading for help, something he was incapable of providing any longer.

He glanced to the skyline, mouth dry and throat hoarse as his mind seemed to conjure up images of Kinloch. The similar situation, the familiar despondency.

Kirkwall had fallen, and the Qunari were likely to kill them all, and just like Kinloch, he felt powerless to stop them.

 


	2. The Lone Templar

_**25** **th** **Haring** _

_**9:33 Dragon** _

_**9** **Days before the beginning of Kirkwall’s fall.** _

 

 

 _Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_  
_I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm._  
_I shall endure._  
_What you have created, no one can tear asunder._

_**-Trials 1:10** _

 

 

If there was one thing Knight-Captain Rutherford could say was true in life, it was that he hated Kirkwall.

That wasn't something he said on a day where his patience was running thin, he didn't just speak casually of his dislike of the City of Chains when he was feeling low. No. He loathed the Southern Free Marcher state with a passion, for it represented everything he stood against.

It's lower class were loud, abrasive and uncouth, while its nobility were like diluted Orlesians with even more haughty attitudes that screamed entitlement. The streets were a completely muddled maze of brick and mortar, hundreds of dead ends, paths to nowhere with hideyholes in every nook and cranny. The docks were poorly organized, and the sewers in certain parts nearly non-existent, life was almost lawless in some ways and all that was topped off with the racist remarks the Marchers made in calling him a damn 'Dog Lord', something he despised for the slander against Mabaris.

And then he wasn't going to even mention Darktown.

Kirkwall quite frankly was chaos, and Cullen hated chaos. His life relied on order, structure and discipline, there was no impulsive actions or rash decisions, everything relied on careful planning, forethought and plenty of consideration. It had been the basis of his life from the age of thirteen and it was something he loved about the Templar Order, everything had a purpose and place, there was no deliberation or blurred lines in is duty, he was able to carry it out simply to the very letter without the worry of affecting his moral compass.

It would be two years next month since he stepped of the Order Galleon onto the cracked, taupe flagstones of the Gallows, taking his place as Knight-Captain of the militant arm of Kirkwall's Templar chapter. In that time he had truly dedicated himself to his work, over the months since his arrival he had worked tirelessly to integrate his life into the mess that was Kirkwall, busying himself so as not to focus on the memories of the Blight and all the sorrow and pain they brought.

And he had succeeded to a degree.

No longer did he fall into a depressed state of apathy for weeks at a time, or turn to the bottle to drown his woes when the nightmares became too much. The Lyrium helped, and Meredith was always willing to up one's dose, his mind was always sharper and his purpose clearer when he had taken his daily drafts, allowing him to concentrate on his Maker-given task of protecting the innocent from the dangers of uncontrolled and corrupted magic.

But today the acute sense of discontent was strong, and he could feel the disillusionment and coldness lingering on the edges of his mind, ready to seize him and drag Cullen back to the emotionless suit of armour he had become when he fled Ferelden after losing everything. It had been so long since he felt truly happy or content that even his own recollections were hazy, instead he had married himself to servitude and commitments, setting aside the man to live as the Templar.

But it was days like today that he recognized that perhaps that was no longer a possibility, that the Templar he wanted to be and the Order he wanted to uphold no longer existed. His fight to find a middle-ground between the extremist sides that had developed in the Gallows had been slower than he could ever have imagined, that trying to find a solution for the near defective system was slipping further and further away each day, even as it slowly edged towards total meltdown.The Templar Order at its core in Kirkwall had been warped and twisted into a disgusting amalgamation of brutality and inhumanity. To see magi made tranquil for as little as sending love letters outside the circle, apostates being executed on sight for simply fleeing what in their minds was a tyrannical prison; one occupied by monstrous jailers who actively looked for an excuse to execute their charges, was simply disgusting.

Kirkwall was truly an atrocious home for any mage, no matter their how apt at survival they were.

Meredith was a dangerous visionary, and day by day her hatred and prejudice seemed to grow at an alarming rate. He had known from the moment he had full sight of the city after passing through the infamous harbour wall, that Kirkwall was no peaceful municipality. The Veil was so thin, he swore that amongst the darkened corners and shadowed alcoves of the tower, he could hear the whispers of the cold-blooded, malignant creatures that resided within the fade itself. In the bleakest and most ominous of nights, he had awoken more than once to unnatural dreams and sounds within the Gallows, leaving him remorseful of the mages trapped amongst the bitter, cramped quarters of the Circle, forcing them to endure tests of both willpower and sanity just to survive the day.

But then in equal consideration, to believe that the magi here were innocent was foolhardy. He had been nothing less than completely vigilant and merciless towards those that could misuse their Maker given powers, for as reviling as the Templars of Meredith's chapter could be, the Maleficars and apostates of Kirkwall's depraved undercity and abominable Darktown were a whole different problem all together. It was hard to feel sympathy for the few mages of the Circle that wanted to honestly live in peace wand quiet with their friends and studies, especially when one encountered what they could be twisted into in but a moment of desperation or malice.

At its inception, the Mage-Underground was a group of brave, daring freedom fighter that worked to liberate other mages from the Gallows and other Templar installations that existed within Kirkwall. They were tenacious and skilled at disrupting the Orders presence and undermining authority, all the while strengthening bonds and mutual relationships with the locals through their abilities and knowledge. For a time they were well-respected underdogs with support from much of the lower-class population.

In the past five years though, they had become little more than terrorists.

During Cullen's first months as Knight-Captain, Meredith had ordered his troops to embark on a new campaign, they were to surge into Lowtown by force and kick the Mage-Underground out permanently. What had occurred over the next year had been brutal, he and his knights embarking on a near genocidal campaign, slaughtering any and all apostates that resisted their push into the city, those that tried to surrender currently served as the Circles tranquil – Meredith had been ruthless.

From his very first operation he had been forced to deal with Blood Magic, improvised Lyrium bombs and guerilla style attacks near daily as the Underground struck back from the dank enclosed streets of Lowtown. With each victory the Order accomplished, the more desperate the Mage-Insurgency became in their fight against injustice.

He had seen first hand the measure that the Underground were willing to use in their war against the Templars, his personal inspection of the Knight's patrol routes for the market district of Lowtown had been an event that would likely haunt him for the rest of his life. He had been working to garner an understanding of the day-to-day deployments of his men to get a better sense of their work, what he encountered forever changed his opinion of mages and served as a constant reminder of the depths some men would turn to when forced into a corner.

Coming across a young boy of maybe seven in the midst of an Antivan bazaar was not an odd experience, the lad had been terrified at the sight of Cullen moving towards him, and it had been far too late for him to recognise that the Marcher child was actually bait for an ambush. Standing at the bypass point of three separate patrol routes, his knights had been caught offguard in a cross fire of magic, in their haste to defend themselves none had spared the boy a glance, no one understanding he was a mage child that had been placed in the very midst of the conflict with the expectation of him panicking and being possessed.

Cullen would never forget the boy's screams as he was forcefully overtook by a demon, his very being was mutated into a horrendous abomination of both a nimble and powerful stature. The monster had slain four Templars in a frenzy before it could be put down, defiant to the last moment as it was cut down by sword and pike and Cullen could do little more than stare at the corpse of a child that had been used as a living weapon.

In that moment, Cullen had lost any and all respect and sympathy for the apostates of Kirkwall. In doing so, the next eighteen months had been spent dismantling the underground piece by piece, a task he relished as he put his skills to their best use in protecting the innocent and keeping the city safe.

But for all he done to remove the threat of the Mage-Insurgency, Kirkwall had not deemed to give him a reprieve. The city was rife with anarchy, verging on political instability as many began to recognise the current Viscount as a weak figure of leadership. Adding in threats from Nevarra's recent expansion and the increasing tension amongst the Chantry and Qunari, one could see that all these problems were contributing to the point of pure pandemonium that was Kirkwall. It would only take a single match to ignite a blaze that could potentially tear the city apart in one fell swoop.

 

 

Traversing the eerily silent halls of the Templar keep allowed Cullen a moment of respite, the soothing sounds of his metal capped boots residing on the stone floor was soothing in a familiar way, years of walking the corridors and stair of Kinloch had offered the same noise and it brought back a sense of peace he rarely encountered since the Blight.

After reaching his office and settling himself in, Cullen shuffled through his daily paperwork with a heavy sigh, throwing himself down into the rosewood seat of his office as it became apparent of the workload that he had been delivered, stopping at the flash of a certain name that caught his eye when he withdrew Emeric's latest report.

  _Hawke._

A name he both feared and admired to some capacity, especially considering who she had a shared bloodline with. _Maker if she knew the truth of my past, she would likely be furious._ He mused, she was nothing less than adamant of her hate of Templars, something she had clearly extended to him if he wasn't mistaken from her past attitude.

His head shot up at the sharp knock to his door, three solid raps rather than the two lighter ones of his assistant. Calling an 'enter', Cullen rearranged the missives and his desk and crossed his hands whilst leaning forward on his elbows as he waited patently. He was surprised to see the rugged yet still youthful face of Knight-Sergeant Emeric enter his office, his expression twisted into a grim look as he crossed the floor to stand infront of his Knight-Captain.”

"Emeric, what can I do for you?” He inquired, motioning the man to sit in the highbacked chair next to him.

“Knight-Captain thank you for giving me a moment.” He uttered solemnly, withdrawing a small binder of parchment from beneath his arm.

Cullen had nothing but respect for the veteran knight, the man was currently one of his best senior hunters and was currently heading an investigation into the White Lilly Suitor, despite the obvious signs of the ever increasing strain the Lyrium dreams were placing on him. His work had so far been slow but thorough and the signs were clear, a vicious serial killer, one that had been involved with numerous missing women over the last two years had drawn the attention of the Order due to Emeric.

It became their prerogative after he linked the abduction of enchanter Mharen from a healers safehouse in Lowtown over nine months ago to an infamous abductor who had terrified the city for over two years, since then Emeric and a small team had combed the entirety of Kirkwall in search of the monster, but so far had come up short as they continued to evade the orders attempts to trap him.

“It it not a problem, please.” He gestured for the man to continue as he placed his notes on the desk, leaning forward with a serious expression.

“I have received word from Serah Hawke; she has requested a meeting in Lowtown, not far from the Hanged Man tavern.” He said as Cullen sat back, steepling his fingers in thought. “She believes to have vital information relevant to the White Lilly Suitor.”

“I see.” He offered quietly, narrowing his eyes as he looked over the letter. “Very well Knight-Sergeant, you have my permission to take a small squad and meet Hawke.” He gave a firm nod and rose to his feet to usher the elder knight out. “The sooner this monster is dealt with, the better.”

Emeric meanwhile furrowed his brow, throwing Cullen a questionable look that had him pausing.. “Actually Knight-Captain, I was inquiring as to you joining me. Serah Hawke was adamant at our last meeting that she believed our foe to be a powerful Maleficar.”He declared, eyes glancing back to his notes in confirmation as Cullen clasped his hand behind his back.

_A Malifcar...Of course! He could easily ensnare their minds and draw them away without suspicion._

“You believe this as well?” He asked, Hawke had never been completely upfront or truly honest with him, but she was not one to lie maliciously in such a dangerous matter. Nevertheless, it was always comforting to have a second opinion.

“I do, she has an impressive foresight of such things, her information mentioned a definite source to follow, and you have had direct dealings with her on multiple occasions.” He recounted, many knew that Hawke had been a useful asset to the order, but only Cullen knew she was really a mage. Something he went to great lengths to hide, because despite her attitude, Hawke cleaned the streets of scum far more efficiently than the guard ever could.

“Hawke and I do not have the most… amiable relationship, our encounters are far and few for a reason, I'm afraid it is entirely possible I would be detrimental to your meeting with her.” Emeric tilted his head in response, regarding Cullen with a sceptical look.

“Normally I would agree ser, but she emphasised that this mage was likely to be incredibly powerful and believes he may not be working alone.” Cullen's eyebrows raised dramatically at such a statement, Maker help us if there is a consortium…. But why? Why take these women, what could they hope to achieve?

He hesitated on his next words, shifting uncomfortably under his superiors curious gaze. “Your unique experience in dealing with blood magic would be invaluable ser, there is not anyone better suited for the task.” Cullen remained stiff and silent after the man spoke, he knew that many had heard rumours of his time from Kinloch, and the fact he was the top rated trainer for lessons on the subject had obviously not been remiss from what Emeric was implying.

“Andraste preserve us.” He breathed, shaking his head as he met the man's uncertain face. “Very well Emeric, gather Knight Sergeants Hague and Dannings. We will leave at the seventh bell, if Hawke's information is correct, we will move immediately afterwards, understood?” He queried, mirroring the knights salute before glancing to the sunset out of his office window. Less than thirty minutes to prepare…

“Knight-Captain.” Emeric acknowledged upon leaving, closing the door gently and leaving Cullen with his pensive thoughts. Whatever Hawke had uncovered in terms of the White Lilly suitor, he had no doubt it would be relevant, the woman was nothing if not astute and dogmatic when dealing with such serious matters.

He groaned loudly at the realisation that he would no doubt be forced to battle the malicious wit of the tempestuous apostate, swearing at himself for not just arresting her that memorable day on the wounded coast.

Few mages had ever left such a distinct impression on Cullen after all he had witnessed during the Blight, seeing the power she wielded in such precise and deadly ways only reminded him of the power in her bloodline, and he was not surprised that an Amell could harness such strength and ability.

He had been outnumbered thirteen to one, a demoniacally infested Templar bearing down on him with both claw and fang when she had intervened alongside her ragtag group. Exerting the power of a Northern Ferelden storm, she had swept the field in a blaze of lighting and waves of arcane frost, arcing bolts of searing energy and electric through the demons that had torn the shades apart, finally clearing the battle with a powerful blizzard like tempest that had shattered the remaining creatures effortlessly.

He could easily admit that she was a literal force of nature.

She was a rare beauty, the kind that had men pausing at her striking looks, something that was only accentuated by her incredibly fiery personality and her immovable strength of character. Rich blonde hair the colour of fine Orlesian Champagne that was spun into a fauxhawk braid, combined with shaved sides and temples to emphasise the heartshape of her face and jawline. A sharp nose coupled with a set of wayfarer grey eyes that teemed with hues of granite, but when focused into anger became chilled with the intensity of pure ice, forming a glare that could intimidate even the most stoic of men.

Cullen was proud he could withstand her withering and deadly gaze with ease, something that he knew infuriated her.

More than once he had heard knights remark on her sinful figure, clad in tight leathers, she strode the Gallows confidently despite the 'quarterstaff' on her back. Lithe calves that led up to a set of long supple thighs that coupled with a perfect arse, a gorgeous curve to her spine that intimated her flexibility and the almost broad shoulders that belied the potent strength of her arms from swinging her staff.

With a fair bust and a tight waist that would leave most women envious, he could admit he was attracted to her, annoyingly so. But it was her voice, that warm husky Ferelden accent that warmed his blood as she cracked brutal jokes and fast, harsh retorts. He wouldn't lie when he said that seeing her bright grey eyes narrow in anger and defiance made his heart race, and he took a perverse pleasure in sparring with her formidable wit, as she clearly well read and not afraid to challenge him.

But then they disagreed on everything.

The Circle, Kirkwall, Mages and Templars. She could be blunt and downright prickly at times, not too mention she hated Templars on principle for some unknown reason, but underneath he recognised the empathy few could match, empathy that she hid form others with such a hard exterior. Compassion that she displayed when she argued for Keran to receive his knighthood, or where she helped pay Macha's sisters debts through her own purse. She was a Maker-damned contradiction at times.

She always took time when she visited to debate with him, eyes narrowed and face flushed as he matched her ever point with a counter, topics ranging from the knight deployments to the amount of tranquil in the courtyard. She would spit fire and fury and he would respond with cold, clipped words, it was almost amusing to think how close the two had come to blows as their arguments became so incredibly heated, despite the public setting of the Gallows courtyard.

But past the mutual dislike and the small slither of animosity they each held for the other, Cullen respected her and the efforts she made to keep Kirkwall safe.

He just hated having to deal with her when required.

Pushing aside thoughts of the Amell women, Cullen set off from his office at a fast pace, striding across the main courtyard and darted amongst the merchants as they began to pack away their wares for the night. By the time he came to the top of the steps that descended down to the main ferry pier, Cullen could already spy the salt and pepper hair of Emeric as he stood at the head of his two other Knight-Sergeants. The small group of officers would attend the meeting with Hawke, and hopefully use any relevant information to put an end to this Serial killer who had haunted the women of Kirkwall for too long.

By the time he stepped onto the ferry, Cullen could already feel this would be a long and arduous night.

 

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted a break from In My Heart Shall Burn. Voila, something fro me to muse on when I get stuck on my other fic, expect sporadic updates for the moment.


End file.
